"She's going to get bred," Nola winces as the rookie is pinned in the corner. She gets too worked up watching these things. I'm too jaded to care anymore.
"Who doesn't in their first fight?" I shook my head. The girl would learn eventually. We all do.
Lucien, a burly Pit Bull beastman, was fucking her hard. He'd already cum in her twice, once more and he would be the winner, and the rookie would bear his litter. Nola grimaces. I pat her distended belly.
"How many times have you shit out a litter of pups since you started? Four? Five times? It's the nature of the game. It's the risk we signed up for." I take a sip of water from my bottle. "She'll do better next time."
"Fourteen and 8," Nola mumbles.
"What?"
"Fourteen breedings, and eight wins." She takes a long drag off her cigarette. "Dogs, cats, bears, taurs, and even a fucking litter of rats."
"Seven, and five," I mumble. I lost my first three, won two in a row, lost one, won the next two, lost, won, then lost the last two. My last breeding was at the hands, and balls, of Lucien. The bastard refused any acceleration magic for me, made me carry his pups to term the long way. Rookie screams as Lucien's balls empty the one that counts deep into her womb. The crowd screams their approval. The announcers play off that excitement, getting them pumped for the next match. Getting them ready for me.
I take a deep breath, offer up a prayer that I perform well, and take up my spot behind the curtain. Our home is an abandoned school out in the sticks. We've converted the classrooms into little apartments. I share mine with Nola, and now, the Rookie. I'll learn her name when I need to use it.
The old gym has been turned into our fighting arena. A wrestling ring sits in the center of the floor. It's surrounded by crowd control barriers, and folding chairs. There's a space for the announcers' table, and a path for the fighters to walk down. We fight every Friday and Saturday night, to packed houses. And it is all very, VERY illegal.
Cockfighting is the open secret of the South. It's one of those things that everyone pretends died out years ago, while making plans to catch the next bout this weekend. The premise is simple. Human women enter a ring with a horny Beast, and try to keep him from breeding her. In small towns like this, too many important people get their kicks, and kickbacks, from it to ever consider shutting us down. And that's the thing, you'd think only Beast Boys would show up, but there's a good chunk of every audience that's human, and not just guys. Women show up as well, and about once a month we get a new recruit.
The only thing a Cockfighter wears is her belt. It's enchanted so that only the third shot into your womb will be the one that impregnates you. It's called "Getting the Three Count". The girl wins if she can get the Beast off three times without it landing in her pussy. Ass, Mouth, Tits, Feet, or anywhere else is a point for you. You'll learn to do all kinds of things to keep from getting knocked up. The belts also insure you're "prepped" for the fight, making sure your muscles are relaxed, and everything is properly lubed. Every time I put mine on it makes me horny. That's how I know its working.
Anything goes, as long as no one gets hurt for real. Holds, throws, open hand slaps, are all legal. Close hand strikes, weapons, biting that draws blood will get you disqualified. Beasts are on a one strike policy. Get disqualified, or caught abusing a Cockfighter, and your bleeding broken body will be dumped on the side of the road in the next county. Try to return, and they'll never find your corpse. Girls work under a three strike policy. After three disqualifications they cancel your contract, and throw you into the street with nothing but the clothes on your back. Try and come back, and you'll just wind up living in the special ed trailer out back, whoring yourself for any Beast, or human, that wants to pay for you.
I'm getting ready to have my first strike removed, finally. I accidentally kicked Elroy, a Cougar Beastman, in the balls during a match. I was forced to "apologize". By that, I mean they marched me into the guys' locker room, handcuffed me to a showerhead, and let every guy in the promotion run a train on every hole in my body. Second strikes see them open up your apology to every Beast in the audience as well.